


How Peter Parker and Tony Stark Ruined Christmas

by SbiderSlut (BlackCoffeeCat)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Crack-ish, Holidays, Lap Sitting, M/M, Panties, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Santa Kink, Santa Roleplay, Smut, Tony and Peter are Fucking Perverts, Tony is a Pervy Santa, but he ageplays young, corny candy metaphors, peter is 18+
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCoffeeCat/pseuds/SbiderSlut
Summary: Peter sits his cute, panty-clad ass in Santa-Tony’s lap.Festive, super-kinky holiday debauchery ensues.That’s it, that’s the story.





	How Peter Parker and Tony Stark Ruined Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings first! If you don’t like ageplay/roleplay where the little discovers sexual pleasure, then you might want to skip this one. This fic is gaudy as hell, super cheesy, super filthy, and just squicky-squicky. No redeeming qualities, whatsoever. It’s probably borderline crack, it’s so ridiculous. Tony plays a VERY creepy Santa. Also, there are candy metaphors used in reference to giving blowjobs … I know! I’m the worst. Consider all of this a big, orange-striped, road-sign warning. Like, this fic definitely isn’t fit for human consumption. It’s embarrassing. There are no redeeming qualities to it. Turn back. 
> 
> The ONE TIME I have the self-control to skip out on the daddy kink, it’s only because I replaced it with its festive cousin -- Santa Kink. Yummy yummy. (Actually, that’s a lie. There is exactly ONE use of the word ‘daddy’ because I’m hopeless.) Yes, I already have a working lease for my luxury penthouse in hell. If you want to be buildingmates, get on my level of sin ;) I have plans to host orgies every Friday night, and invitations are exclusive. 
> 
> So, if you're still with me AND you’re still planning on reading this, I hope you enjoy! God help you!

To their credit, not one person tried to talk Tony out of modifying his Santa suit. No one. Not Pepper, not the Avengers, not Rhodey, and certainly not Peter.

Though Tony also gets the sense that Peter is innately invested _in_ Tony dressing up as a sexy Santa. But that’s beside the point.

The point is, everyone knows nothing can stop Tony from becoming the sexiest Santa in history.

It’s gonna happen.

Nobody tried to stop him.

(Peter sure as hell encouraged it.)

And it warms his cold, dead heart to have friends and family who know and accept him so fucking well.

Besides, if they wanted a Santa with a fluffy beard and a big ‘ol stuffed belly, they should have picked Steve. Steve lives for corny shit like that. Maybe even Clint -- he has kids. Thor likes Midgardian yule traditions, so he would have been an option, too.

Literally _anyone_ would have been a better option to play wholesome Santa.

But no, they asked for Tony, specifically.

He has no idea why any reasonable human being would have pointed at him and said, _‘Hmm, this man with nine sex tapes and a mile-long list of public scandals? He would make a marvelous Santa Claus,'_ but that’s apparently what happened.

Someone, somewhere, _actually_ decided that. 

So, they can deal with the consequences.

This is going to be _fun._  

\--- 

“Bye, Santa,” Peter purrs. He stretches out like a cat and pushes himself up from where he was lounging on the bed. Slowly, he sidles up to Tony and presses a soft kiss to Tony's bearded jaw. “See you tonight.” 

“Uh, see you,” Tony echoes, turning from the mirror to watch as Peter slinks out the room. 

It crosses his mind that Peter is up to something.

But then, Pepper knocks on his door to rush him, and the thought slips away, forgotten. 

His mistake. 

\--- 

“Long day, Santa?” 

“Hey, yeah, baby, I--uh.” Tony blinks as he looks at the doorway, hands pausing where they were just about to unbelt his pants. “Hi?”

Peter's wearing some sort of costume, and that's only if Tony is being generous with his definitions of both _costume_ and _wearing_. Whatever Peter has on ...

 _Well_.

It’s green and red. It's festive, too. That much Tony can tell. There’s not much to interpret, because what tiny bit of material there is could barely count as panties. It’s red, and green, and somewhat lacey, and gaudy as hell. 

It’s like Christmas decided to go down on Peter and slobbered all over him in the process. 

Oh, and then there’s antlers on his head, but Tony’s hardly looking at those. With the way Peter’s ass cheeks hang out of his miserable excuse for underwear, and the way the material can barely keep his pretty, pink cock contained, who could blame Tony? 

“Whatcha’ got there, sweetie?” Tony asks after a long pause.

Peter shifts on his feet, hips swaying slightly in apprehension. Tony’s heart skips and his dick chubs up within the confines of his pants. 

Peter gnaws his lower lip and clasps his hands together behind his back. “I, uh, was waiting for you to get home,” he murmurs, trailing a bare foot along the carpet. “...Santa.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Tony can _definitely_ get on board with that.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he cracks, grinning when that elicits a snort from Peter. Never let it be said that their sex lives don’t involve a healthy heaping of humor and goofiness. “Come here, babe.” He extends an arm out. 

“Yes, Santa.” 

So, Peter’s actually not letting that go anytime soon. _Perfect_. Tony is truly inspired. 

He lets Peter come to him and drapes an arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I have an idea,” he murmurs, guiding them out into the living room. “Stand here, okay?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Tony leaves Peter at the entrance and makes his way to the armchair by the fireplace, taking his time to get comfortable. He puts on his best man-spread, opening his legs and sitting all the way back in a relaxed position which makes him feel _not_ unlike a mob boss. Just a little bit. 

“And what’s your name?” Tony asks, in his best authoritative tone. It’s the same one he uses when ordering Peter on hands and knees -- the same one he uses when negotiating fat trade deals for SI.

Safe to say, it comes naturally to him, and Peter is a complete slut for it. 

His boy is a genius; Peter catches on fast. “P-Peter, sir,” he stutters out, sounding sweeter than a holiday gumdrop. “I'm Peter Parker, Santa.” 

Santa isn’t -- or at least Tony hopes he isn't -- a pervert. He’s an icon to kids everywhere and spends one night each year breaking into countless households around the globe. For the sake of youngins everywhere, Tony hopes their homes aren’t being invaded by an old, Dumbledore-looking pervert. 

But, _Tony_ is a pervert. He wears that badge with honor. On top of that, he looks far sexier than any Santa he’d imagined as a kid, so he pats his lap and says, “Well, hello, Peter! Come here, then. Come sit in Santa’s lap.” 

In the back of his head, there’s the faint howling of laughter -- not unlike one of the Lion King hyenas. Because _what even?_ This is _ridiculous._  

His dick doesn’t seem to give a fuck, though. It strains against the confines of Tony’s slacks as Peter slowly crosses the room, one timid step at a time, not unlike a baby reindeer. (Tony takes a second to cordon off that thought for another time, because _yummy._ ) He watches the way the boy’s muscles ripple, the way his cock -- standing stiff -- stretches at the soft material of his panties with each movement. 

Tony leers, spread his legs further, and pointedly palms at his cock with one hand. He crooks the index finger of his other hand to gesture Peter closer. “Come here, sweet boy. Don’t be shy. Don’t you want to see the present Santa has for you?” 

“Y-Yes, please,” Peter says, rushing forward until he’s standing awkwardly in front of Tony. He brings his hands in front of him, clasping them in a way which hides how his panties are already damp. 

Tony clicks his tongue and reaches forward, separating Peter’s hands and pressing them to his sides. “It’s okay, Peter, let me see you.” Tucked against the waistband of his panties, Peter’s cock gives a weak little twitch. More precum dribbles out, seeping through the fabric. “You’re such a pretty boy, Peter, you know that?” 

Peter looks down and chews his lips to hide a bashful smile. 

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Tony soothes. “Sit.” He pulls Peter forward and between his legs, balancing the boy on one of his thighs. 

Peter snickers, then. Just for a few seconds as the situation hits him.

“So, tell me, Peter,” Tony asks, barely able to contain his own mirth. “Have you been a good boy this year?” 

“Oh, yes, Santa, I have.” Peter plays along so beautifully, all the time. Tony is fucking _blessed_. If they weren’t exclusively using their skills in the bedroom, they’d be taking the improv world by storm.

But, it’s probably to the world’s benefit that they _don’t_ do that. 

Tony can't really mourn that loss, though, because _he’s_ the one who gets to sit Peter Parker’s plump, perky ass in his lap. _He's_ the one who gets to spoil Peter with things which would make the actual Santa Claus quit his job on the spot if he ever caught wind. 

As far as Tony’s concerned, he’s the luckiest man in the world, and every day he gets to spend with Peter Parker is Christmas.

“So, tell me, Peter,” Tony says, putting on his best ‘Santa’ tone, “You haven’t been a naughty boy at all this year?” 

“Nope!” Peter shakes his head. 

“Are you sure?” 

Peter pauses and licks his lips. “... Yes?” When he receives a pointed look from Tony, he blushes and leans forward, burying his face against the side of Tony’s neck. “Maybe? I’m sorry, Santa!” 

 _Fuck,_ Tony thinks. Peter is _good_. He’s even got the teary, shameful tone down to a T. “There, there, Peter,” Tony soothes, barely managing to keep it together between the mess of arousal and amusement that is swirling in him. He gently pries Peter's head away from his neck so he can look the distressed boy in his eyes. “That’s alright, though. Even the best boys can sometimes be naughty. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“But, does that mean I don’t get a present?”

Peter is obviously acting, but even a fake puppy gaze from him tugs on Tony’s heartstrings enough that he’s sorely tempted to buy out the entirety of FAO Schwarz. “Oh-ho-ho-ho,” Tony laughs -- and that proves to be a little too much because Tony dissolves into a few seconds of hysterical giggles. 

Peter laughs softly into the side of Tony’s neck, as well. 

“Okay, okay,” Tony chuckles, taking a few breaths to calm himself. “No more ho-ho-hoing, then. That’s too much. Just... You can get a present, okay? Wait, let me rephrase.” 

“Yes, Santa?” Peter asks, coyly, pulling back and glancing up through thick lashes. 

It's the perfect foundation to help Tony jump back in-character. 

See? They’re a perfect pair. A dream team.

“See, Peter, you’ll just have to be _extra_ good for a little bit,” Tony says, with his best patronizing tone. “And if you’re _extra_ good for Santa, you’ll get your present.”

“How, Santa?” Peter asks, grasping gently onto the lapels of Tony’s coat. “I want my present, pretty please? I’ll be good, I’ll do _anything_.” 

“Well,” Tony says, and this is the _exact_ moment he knows he’ll be bumped one circle deeper into hell. You don’t corrupt a holiday this savagely. You just _don’t_. It’s total blasphemy or violating some sacred shit or something. 

But, they’re Tony Stark and Peter Parker, and they do it _anyway_.   

Nothing is safe from their deranged sexual proclivities.  _Nothing._  

“Santa has been a little stressed from delivering presents,” Tony says. “What do you say, you help Santa relieve a little bit of his stress?” 

“How?” Peter asks, eyes wide and beseeching. 

And _oh_ , Tony is _definitely_ about to sprint past some thick line that should _never_ be crossed.

Still, he boldly blazes forward. He asks, “Do you like candy, Peter?” 

“Oh, yes, Santa!” Peter nods enthusiastically, licking at his lips.

“Do you like lollipops?” 

“They’re my favorite!” 

“Okay,” Tony says, and there’s a second where Peter breaks -- his sweet face twitches and a devious smirk peeks through for the briefest second before he composes himself again. They both know what’s coming. “Well, Peter, Santa has a _very_ special lollipop for you.” 

Oh, he is _so_ getting drowned in coal for the rest of his fucking life. That is, if he doesn't get struck dead by lightning first.

 _Worth it._  

“Oh, what kind of a special lollipop, Santa?” Peter asks, looping his arms around Tony’s shoulders in excitement. 

It’s too cute. 

Tony wrestles down the urge to just throw Peter against the nearest surface and ravish him.

“Well, it’s in Santa’s pants,” Tony hints. “It’s a part of Santa.” 

“Oh.” Peter’s brow furrows and he looks down at Tony’s lap, then back up. “You mean...?” Timidly, he reaches forward and lays a hand over the bulge in Tony’s slacks.

“Yes, Peter,” Tony says, resisting the impulse to groan and buck up into Peter’s touch.   

“ _That?_ Your _thing?_ ” 

“Yes, Peter. You’re such a smart boy, aren’t you? The _smartest_ boy." 

A pleased flush rises in Peter’s cheeks at the corny praise. “But Santa!” he fake-protests, “I can’t eat _that_!” 

“Not eat,” Tony corrects, gently. “You just lick it. And suck it. Do you think you can do that, Peter? It would make Santa feel _very_ good.” 

“Oh.” Peter blinks and swallows nervously. “Yes, Santa. Can I try it now?”

“Of course, darling,” Tony agrees, patting at Peter’s skinny flank. “You’ll have to kneel, sweetheart. Can you get down?”

“Mhmm!” Peter agreeably slides off Tony’s lap. He settles on his haunches between Tony’s spread thighs and curiously looks up with those big, brown eyes. “Can I take it out, Santa?”

Tony’s cock twitches fiercely in anticipation. He closes his eyes and groans, low in his throat. “Go right on ahead, sweetheart,” he rasps out. 

Okay, so _maybe_ they’re not masters at improv, yet. Peter seemingly forgets himself and pries open Tony’s slacks with dexterous, experienced fingers. Tony watches intently as Peter hungrily pushes down Tony’s pants and takes out his cock, already leaking and at full, unforgiving mast. 

Tony also witnesses the exact moment that Peter catches himself again, pausing to take a moment and reorient his persona. 

It's captivating to watch, as youth washes back over Peter’s face like crystal-clear river water over a pebble. It’s still recognizably Peter, just under a sheen of faux innocence. 

Peter blinks up at Tony with a face that's  _begging_ to be fucked, and exclaims, “Oh, gosh, it’s so _big_ , Santa! I’ve never had a lollipop so _big_ before!” 

Those words nearly end Tony, right then and there. Tony grunts, slamming a hand down to grip the arm of his chair, as his dick jumps dangerously and spills out a heavy blurt of precum. “Fuck,” he hisses, taking several deep breaths to rein himself in.

It would _not_ do to end this before it truly began. 

Peter, the absolute little shit, asks, “Oh, what _is_ that, Santa? Is that a candy center?” And then, he leans in and laps up the precum with tiny kitten licks of his tongue, as if genuinely trying to get his first-ever taste.

Unable to hold back, Tony lets out a loud, raspy moan at the little, pleasurable flicks of warmth against the head of his cock. It's so fucking good. It's such a fucking tease. 

The flicks pause.

"Are you okay, Santa?" Peter asks, voice trembling. "Did I hurt you?" 

 _Jesus_. 

"No, no, you're doing wonderfully," Tony gasps. He cups a hand around the nape of Peter’s neck, bringing the boy close enough that the head of his cock nudges against Peter’s chin. “Why don’t you try a little more, sweetheart?” he urges, guiding more of his cock between Peter’s parted lips. “Just like that. Good boy.” 

Peter’s long eyelashes flutter at the praise, and he opens his mouth wider, tongue peeking out. 

Few sights in the universe are more lovely, Tony muses, than Peter Parker sitting pretty on his heels, looking up with those doe eyes, mouth open and begging to be fucked raw. 

How could Tony ever deny anything to that face? 

Inch by inch, Tony feeds his cock into Peter’s waiting mouth, deeper and deeper until Peter’s cheeks are stuffed full and his button nose is pressed snugly to Tony’s pubic bone.

“Look at you,” Tony croons, feeling red-hot pleasure spark in his groin. The ridges of Peter’s throat tighten around him, already trying to milk Tony dry. “Such a natural. You’re so good at this, sweetheart. You were _made_ for this.”

Peter whimpers and the sound reverberates right up Tony’s cock. 

“Can you take more?” Tony asks. “Can Santa take control, sweet boy?” 

Even with their scene set up perfectly, Tony can’t resist some quality face-fucking. It’s his weakness. Sue him. 

Peter hums his assent -- the sound vibrates deliciously _again_ \-- and that’s all the affirmation Tony needs to grasp Peter’s head firmly and start fucking into that welcoming, wet heat with deep, savage rolls of his hips.

God, Peter takes cock so beautifully.

Tony measures the experience by occurrences -- first, the overflowing of drool as so much spit builds up in Peter’s mouth that it just starts dribbling down his chin and neck, sticky and sloppy. Then, the accumulation of tears in the corners of Peter’s eyes, tears that are shaken loose with a particularly sharp jolt. 

The sounds just get better and better. Tony _lives_ for the sounds. He savors those soft, guttural noises that are forced out as Peter’s throat is cruelly battered by Tony’s pistoning hips. Tony listens to the slick sounds of skin against spit. A viciously deep thrust has Peter’s mouth opening wider to let out a wet, gargling cough that’s accompanied by a heavy gush of drool.

“Fuck,” Tony hisses, feeling his balls draw up as Peter peers up, all doleful gaze and wet lashes. “So fucking pretty,” he growls, momentarily breaking character. It’s just _too good_. “Take Daddy’s cock so well, baby." 

“ _Ahhh_ ,” Peter hums, opening his mouth wider and hanging out his tongue like an expectant puppy, anticipating that Tony is close. 

 _So perfectly conditioned_ , Tony thinks. 

All it takes is two strokes from his own hand, and Tony is plunging over the edge with a moan that's a little more wrecked and pitchy than he'd later admit to. He shifts back, aiming his cock so he paints Peter’s face white. He strokes himself through his orgasm, milking out every last drop of cum as Peter sits patiently with his mouth still hanging open. "Fuck," Tony groans, watching in satisfaction as those last few spurts land directly on Peter's tongue.

What? His boy is hungry. It's Tony's job to provide.

Peter shuts his mouth and swallows, visibly. Then, he lets out a soft, satisfied sigh that makes Tony’s chest flutter. 

God, Tony loves this boy so much. 

He reaches a hand forward to touch the pretty, pretty face of the lovely boy he can’t believe he gets to call his own. 

_Unbelievable._

As Tony rubs a thumb through the mess of cum, drool, and tears on Peter’s face, Peter bites his lower lip and looks miserably down, towards his own neglected cock that’s peeking out of the waistband of his panties. It’s furiously red and rock hard, to the point where it looks painful. “Santa, I -- I” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Tony prompts. 

“I -- I feel funny,” Peter whispers. His hips give a little, pitiful twitch and he lets out a bashful mewl. “My -- my lollipop...”  

Oh. _Oh._ Is he --? Are they going _there_?

“I -- it’s all _stiff_. And it’s _leaky_. And I _really_ want to touch it, Santa.” 

Oh _yes,_ they’re going there. 

 _Fuck. Yes._  

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony coos, stomach flip-flopping in excitement. 

God, Peter is such a devious, filthy imp.

God, does Tony adore him for that. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Tony assures. He strokes a finger along Peter’s cheek. There’s a glob of cum right by the corner of one wide, brown eye, and Tony swipes that up, massaging it out in deliciously wet, slippery circles that gleam over Peter’s soft skin.   

“I’m not a bad boy, am I?” Peter asks, and his lower lip goddamn quivers as if he’s on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to be a bad boy, Santa.”    

“Oh, no,” Tony reassures Peter, drawing the boy upwards with a firm grasp around each of Peter’s pale forearms. “You’re a good boy, kitten. My perfect boy.” 

“Oh.” Peter sniffles. “Okay, Santa.” He lets himself be guided back into Tony’s lap, in an open-legged straddle, this time.

He’s an _exquisite_ sight.

“You’re so pretty,” Tony murmurs, taking in the spellbinding picture Peter makes -- legs spread wide open, cheeks flushed a virginal pink and sloppy with Tony’s spend. Tony eyes that pretty, weeping cock tucked snugly between the waistband of Peter’s panties and his trembling, lower belly.

Tony’s mouth waters. “Why don’t you let Santa give you your present, hmm? Let Santa play with your little lollipop?” 

“M-mine?” Peter stutters, nose creasing in a confused manner. “W-why?”

“It’ll make you feel _so_ good, sweet boy,” Tony coaxes. “Will you let Santa show you?” 

“Okay,” Peter whispers, looking so convincingly anxious that Tony has half a mind to call up the AMPAS and demand an Oscar for Peter. “Show me, please.” 

Tony starts out slow, as if he were genuinely introducing Peter to the vast world of sexual pleasures. He takes a hand and cups it over Peter’s crotch, feeling the soft pulsing of Peter’s cock and balls against his palm. He massages down gently, mesmerized by how Peter chews his lip and swallows down a breathy whine. A delicious chill visibly runs through the boy's entire body. “How does that feel, sweetheart?”

“Hmm,” Peter breathes out, forehead creasing in concentration. “‘S all warm and tingly, Santa. It tickles.” He rolls his hips gently and lets out a little, stilted gasp. “Oh!”    

“Good?” Tony prompts.

“Mhmm. More, please?” 

“Of course, kitten.” Tony presses down more firmly, parting his index and middle fingers so they frame Peter’s cock perfectly. “Is this better?” 

“Oh, gosh, _Santaaaa_ ,” Peter mewls, back arching and hips bucking forward. “Yes, please, it’s so good!” 

“Santa loves making you feel good, Peter,” Tony murmurs. “What do you say we take your little lollipop out?” 

Peter blindly scrabbles for purchase, grasping at Tony’s shoulders and weaving his fingers tightly into loose, red fabric. He eagerly nods and clings on tightly. “Yes, yes, yes,” he pleads. “Please, Santa. Touch me some more.” 

“Touch you like this?” Tony takes Peter’s leaking cock out of his sopping wet panties and begins to stroke it -- slowly, steadily, languidly -- relishing in the delightful array of noises his touch draws from the boy. Those needy little sounds harmonize perfectly with the loud, sloppy squelching of Peter’s cock sliding in and out of Tony’s fist. “How’s that, sweetheart?”    

“ _Hnng_.” Peter’s hips jolt forward. A blurt of precum squirts out, landing on Tony’s shirt. “S-something’s happening,” Peter whimpers, eyes rolling back in his head and jaw dropping open. He moans in time with Tony’s touch, sugary sweet little ‘ _ah ah ah’_ s falling from his lips as he unconsciously bucks into Tony’s grip. “S-Santa, I -- I don’t know, I don’t know. Something’s happening!” 

Tony can tell that Peter is teetering right on the edge with how tight his body is wound, and how his hips seem to lose any semblance of control, rutting frantically in uncoordinated, weak motions. He’s _so_ close. Tony can practically taste it.

And on the subject of taste ... 

“Hold on, sweet boy,” Tony murmurs, removing his hand and smirking as Peter lets out a pathetic, mournful whine. If Tony didn’t love it so much, he’d scold Peter for being such a spoiled brat. “Santa wants to try one last thing, okay? Be good.” 

“O-okay,” Peter relents, eyes fluttering as Tony draws Peter higher, until Peter is kneeling up, hips nearly level with Tony’s face. “What are you -- Oh, _Santa!”_  

Peter cries out, loud and wanton and shocked, as Tony leans forward and -- without any warning -- engulfs the entirety of Peter’s cock in his mouth. Peter’s hands land in Tony’s hair, clinging on tightly. His hips tremble. Tony hollows his cheeks out and sucks, and Peter _howls._        

“Santa!” Peter begs, hips stuttering as if he’s trying to pull away and get closer at the same time. Tony holds his hips still and sucks harder, groaning deep in his chest as he feels another thick blurt of precum hit his tongue. “It’s so good,” Peter chants. “So good, so good, so good, Santa!” 

Then, those hands in Tony’s hair tighten to a painful level. “Oh, no. Oh, no. I’m gonna -- I’m gonna -- Santa, _please._ ” 

Even as he pleads out, Peter’s too far gone. He keeps insistently pressing forward against Tony’s hold, trying to push deeper into the wet heat of Tony’s mouth. 

Tony pulls, back, though. He wraps his hand back around Peter’s sopping wet cock, and looks up into the boy’s imploring, desperate face. “It’s okay,” Tony coaxes. “Let go for Santa, sweet boy. Give Santa your sweet candy.” He strokes Peter one more time with a brutal, sharp twist of his wrist. Just like that, Peter’s mouth falls open in a silent cry, his back arches, and he cums.

There’s _so much_ of it; Tony’s jaw slackens as he watches Peter writhe and spurt out rope after rope of thick, copious cum that goes _everywhere_ \-- all over the front of Tony’s shirt, all over the quivering muscles of Peter’s belly and chest. 

“Jesus,” Tony breathes out and Peter lets out a shaky exhale and falls down in Tony’s lap again. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Thanks, Santa,” Peter pants, slowly coming down. He blinks a few times, lays his palms flat against Tony’s chest, and starts to laugh. “Oh wow,” he giggles, letting his head drop forward so that his laugher huffs warmly against the crook of Tony’s neck. “That was -- wow.” 

“Ho, ho, ho,” Tony quips.    

Peter just laughs harder. “I am,” he snickers. “I am a hoe. I’m your hoe.” 

“That you are,” Tony agrees, tightening his hold around Peter's waist so they’re pressed together, chest to chest. They both groan in mild disgust as Peter’s cum gets squished between them, but they don’t quite care enough to pull apart. “This Santa only needs one hoe," Tony jokes. "The _best_  hoe. Going along with all my perverted fantasies. You’re perfect, you know that?” 

Peter leans back slightly and taps a gentle forefinger against the tip of Tony’s nose. “So are you,” he says, simply. “We work together so well.” 

“That we do,” Tony agrees.

There’s a long, comfortable pause, and then Peter asks, “I don’t think we’ll ever be allowed back on the nice boy list, will we?” 

 _Definitely not_.

“I can deal,” Tony murmurs. He presses a brief peck to Peter’s cum-stained lips, short and sweet and simple. “I’ll be naughty, that’s fine. As long as I’m on the same list as you.”

\--- 

Somewhere in the North pole, the _real_ Santa Claus pulls out his iPad -- it’s important to keep up with technology -- and glances at his updated naughty-nice list. 

He pauses, noticing two new names on the naughty list. 

Without a second thought, Santa Claus pulls up the details of their infractions and begins to read, growing more and more horrified the further down he gets. 

 _Oh my Rudolph,_ he thinks, feeling vaguely sick.

He puts down his tablet, takes off his coat, and pulls out his biggest bottle of bourbon. 

 _Fuck Christmas,_ Santa Claus decides. _I’m taking a vacation._  

\--- 

And _that_ is the story of how Peter Parker and Tony Stark -- _not the Grinch_ \-- ruined Christmas.      

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry XD Like, when I said it was ridiculous, it genuinely is. It's more crack than sexy, I know. But it was fun and I made myself laugh while writing it, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Anywhooo, I hope you enjoyed and I'd love to hear your reactions! xoxo and Happy Holidays <3


End file.
